The Madness of Mr H J Potter
by KillerRabbit
Summary: Chapter 4 is up-- 2 years in the waiting! Hey, I'm like J.k. Rowling without the money. Anyways, this chapter! -- The Metatron, Snape, Harry in mud, Demonbusters with their Bibles, a ferret, and a Reservoir Dogs lost character.
1. Chapter 1: Carrots and Chimps

Snape bounded into the dungeons, hopping on one foot with his arms outstretched crowing "Get it on! Bang the gong! Get it on!" He hopped up to his desk and tripped over his ominously-swishing robes, depositing him flat on the cold stone floor.  
  
The students, hushed at their professor's abnormal entrance, sat dumbfounded in their seats as they listened to grunts and muffled cursings come from behind Snape's desk. Suddenly Snape leaped back up and looked around swiftly, hiding a large stuffed teddy bear behind his back and smoothing his hair with both hands and a dramatic intake of breath. He intook too much. He starting gasping and coughing.  
  
Students were beginning to shift uneasily in their seats and glance nervously at each other while Snape, bent in double, hacked and coughed. He suddenly jerked upright and began to speak in his normal voice, normal air, and normal countenance, before Harry could start giggling uncontrollably at his professor's predicament.  
  
"I expect you all to have completed your essays on the different kinds of poisons native to Abyssinia. I realize it was due on this Friday, but as it is now Tuesday, I expect sixth years such as yourselves to have completed them over the weekend."  
  
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape jerked his glare over to her and slithered over to her desk, standing up and wiping dust and some unknown blue substance from his robes.   
  
"Yessss, Missss Granger?" he hissed.  
  
"Sir, you didn't hand out the assignment until just yesterday."  
  
Snape was staring at Hermione's hand, still up and in the air. Hermione glanced from him to her hand, to Ron, and then, with reluctance, to Harry. For the latter, she was rewarded just as she expected to be: by his classic blank "Huh?" look.  
  
Snape started out of his brief reverie and stared hard at Hermione.   
  
He stared some more.  
  
He stared for five whole minutes before he said, slowly and haltingly, "What---Miss Granger?"  
  
By this time Harry had fallen into a catatonic state classic of those suffering Carrot Syndrome, and his limbs were jerking around out of control as he stared straight ahead and drooled, with the occasional rude comment about Democrats. Snape hopped up on the table and sidled down a few seats until he was sitting in Harry's workplace, legs crossed and batting his eyelids.  
  
"Harry," he said sweetly, flicking his hair behind his ear.   
  
Harry's hand then jumped spastically and hit Snape full in the face. He tumbled backwards and hit the floor with a splat.  
  
A howl came from the crumpled heap of black robes. "Why?!" Snape sobbed. "All I ever did was LOVE you!"  
  
Snape flew into the air and landing standing up, arms crossed and looking very cross indeed. No one mentioned that his eye was slowing darkening to bruise purple, and all politely overlooked the redundant description of Snape's posture and expression.   
  
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a teacher, Potter, and a little bit of my own punishment," he said silkily, pulling a crunchy orange carrot from his sleeve.  
  
Harry came to at once. He looked at the carrot and began to drool profusely. Ron, sighing in exasperation, picked up Harry's rag and wiped his face quickly.  
  
"Why does my family have to like him?" he muttered to Hermione, watching the unfolding torture with peaked interest.  
  
Snape then pulled a food processor from his sleeve. He set it down, a sadistic glint in his eye, watching Harry closely. He then reached into his sleeve again, swore, and began to dig around. He finally came back up with a long extension cord. He then wrenched a monkey from the other sleeve and handed one end of the cord to the creature.  
  
"Take this and plug it into the nearest socket you can find," he ordered the chimp.  
The chimp nodded, and began to trundle off, muttering its cute little chimp babble. Snape turned back to Harry and crossed his arms, grinning evilly as Harry stared in horror at the carrot in so close a proximity to the food processor.  
  
At the door, the chimp turned around, and in the rough, deep voice with nasal accent one would expect to find in a mobster or perhaps a New Yorker, said "Ey. Uhhhh....what's it ya wanme tuh doo 'gain?"  
  
Snape turned with blazing eyes to the chimp. "Plug that into a socket and come right back."  
  
"Rye." The chimp turned away again, muttering, "Lug it...no, slug...into a spocket....Spock...Satr Trek convention, hoo hoo...and go fly till I shite. Rye."  
  
"Chimp!" Snape shouted at the retreating beast.   
  
The chimp stopped and turned around. "Yeh?"  
  
"What are you going to do?" Snape asked the ceiling wearily.   
  
The chimp looked up and made a few impatient and obscene gestures.  
  
"Uhhh," the ceiling replied. "What was that? I didn't know I was in on this just yet."  
  
"Was I talking to you?" Snape snapped.  
  
"Well...it was the monkey's fault!"  
  
"Wuzz nah!" the chimp shouted.  
  
"Was too!"  
  
"WUZZ NAH!"  
  
"WAS TOO!"  
  
And so the argument between chimp and ceiling continued on for a while, becoming more and more colorful and less and less appropriate to account for, word for word. Sadly, in the end, the ceiling ended up with chimp poo splattered all over it and the chimp had been squashed to death by a portion of rotted linoleum.   
  
Hermione looked at Ron. "Linoleum? On the ceiling?"  
  
"You didn't know that?" Ron asked incredulously. "All Muggles use linoleum on their floors, we use it on ceilings. That's what makes the Great Hall's ceiling bewitched. Most Muggles need funny powders or pills or plants to see the magical images in linoleum, but they're there."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said grumpily, slouching into her chair. Ron knew more than her on a subject. She slid down so far in her chair that she was spit out and down a hole in the floor. When she landed, she found herself in a dark place, surrounded by sobbing and wailing.   
  
Suddenly a bright light shone down right on her. Could this be--  
  
"NOOO!!!!" She screamed as the Face loomed before her. Short red hair. Wire-framed glasses. AND A WARDROBE ENTIRELY BLACK!!!  
  
"Hermione Granger," the face said. "You are the Weakest Link."  
  
"Shut up you arrogant wench," Hermione shouted. "You're not even British!"  
  
"Wha--yes, yes I am," the Face stuttered.  
  
"No you're not."  
  
"Yes I am." The Face clapped a hand over its mouth as its accent faltered. It had finally happened: it had been found out.  
  
"Awww, cray-ap," the Face drawled in its normal voice and nasal tone. "I wuzz makin' mill-yuns and mill-yuns of doll-ers in this here bizzznuss and you come 'long and spoil 't all. I don' wanna go bay-ack to sale-ing maygaseen sup-scripshuns."  
  
The weeping and wailing all around Hermione turned to shouts of pure joy. No more would being on Weakest Link be considered a punishment for a capital crime! The world was safe from the Face (because no on really knows that lady (?) anyway). Hermione had saved all of mankind!  
  
"Just the Brits."  
  
Excuse me?  
  
"I only saved the Brits. The rest of the world can rot in hell."  
  
Evil little child...  
  
"The Brits will rule!"  
  
Yes, yes I'm sure they will--  
  
"Down with the non-British plague!"  
  
Hermione, we--  
  
"NEVER AGAIN WILL A BRIT NEED DEAL WITH ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD!!! WE ARE A RACE UNTO OURSELVES!!! WE ARE THE SUPERIOR--"  
  
I am sorry to inform you, the reader, that Hermione Granger will no longer be appearing in this fanfic. She is currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing nursing several lacerations and a concussion inflicted by a lethally-handled fluffy bunny slipper.  
  
"Good riddance," Ron muttered to the drooling Harry. "Why does my family have to like her, anyway?"  
  
"Weasley! If you would PLEASE stop responding to the voices in MY head!" Snape roared. "Unless...of course you were to ask them how I could get power to this food processor..."  
  
Sorry, Professor. No help there.  
  
"Dammit."   
  
Snape whirled on Ron.  
  
"Say," he said. He looked at that redundant narration, shrugged, and continued. "You have funny brothers, right? Fake-wands kind of guys?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Ron squeaked. He shifted in his seat and squashed the mouse in his pocket.  
  
"Yes, the hair gave it away." Snape stared at Ron's bright red hair.  
  
He stared some more.  
  
He stared for a whole--  
  
"Well, where--"  
  
He almost stared for a whole five minutes.  
  
Snape glared at the ceiling and gave the voices the universal sign of disapproval, catching his robes on the way up. They snagged and tore, and all of the girls in the class stampeded up to the front of the room for a better view.  
  
"Well..." Snape paused and whirled, to the disappointed groans of the girl-people, waving his judo-chop hands at the ceiling and emotionally scarring Ron at the sight of the torn backside of his robes.   
Still eyeing the ceiling suspiciously, Snape turned back to Ron, to the squeals of delight from the female-folk, and finished in a rush, "Well? Where are the fake wands?"  
  
"Sir?" Ron asked. Harry continued to drool at the sight of the carrot on the table, his leg kicking out spastically and in time to "When the Saints Go Marching In."  
  
"The fake wands! The fake wands! I want fake wands!" Snape wailed to the heavens, arms upstretched.   
  
"Shut up and stop whining," Metatron called down.  
  
"Eh?" Snape glanced down at his hands and up at the heavens again. "What a very intriguing metaphysical dilemma...If I'm here, how can--"  
  
A spoon clanged down at Snape's feet. Glancing up, he saw the Sheriff of Nottingham grinning insanely down at him as he hung from the chandelier. Snape waved his fist at the Sheriff in reply to the threat.  
  
Suddenly a very neatly dressed man with a black cowboy hat dashed through the classroom and swept up the spoon, whipping out his Army Revolver as he backed over to the door.   
  
"Just what I needed for my mint jelly," Elliot Marston murmured to himself. He left the classroom, shooting two students who were skipping class on the way out. What a sexy sharpshooter.  
  
"Holy--" Snape began, before he was poked by another man disguised in a woman's feather hat. "Now now, there's no need for obscenities. Just let me redo the impression of the key."  
  
"Key?" Snape said blankly.  
  
The man in the hat stiffened in fury. "Collins!" he hollered as he stormed out of the room.  
  
Suddenly, a man with a very interesting head prosthetic which made him none the less handsome or adorable strode in, wearing a purple NSEA suit.  
  
"By Grapthar's Hammer!" Dr. Lazarus/Alexander Dane gasped as he quickly assessed the situation. He whipped out a funky little tech toy. "The nearest fake wand is right over here..." and he began to stagger around, eyes glued to the device. "Wait, no." He stopped and flipped it around just as he ran into a wall. "That way."   
  
"You were holding it upside down!" a student wailed.  
  
"Shut...up."  
  
The man stepped on another student. "This one has several fake wands!" he called. He hauled the student up and pushed him in front of Snape.  
  
"Um...how do I get them?" Snape asked nervously as the rock monster-kid began to chase him.  
  
"Well, you're just gonna have to figure out what it wants. What is its motivation?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Snape shouted as he dodged a rocky fist. "How am I supposed to know?!"  
  
"Oh, right. Of course it's always about you, isn't it?" The man threw his device down and stomped on it (it made a very satisfying scream that sounded very much like a dying dustbunny) before storming out into the hall.  
  
"Where are you going?" Snape cried, hanging upside down from the monster's grip.  
  
"To see if there's a pub!" was the fading response.  
  
A loud, resounding gunshot echoed through the classroom, and every had to hit the floor to avoid being struck by the ricocheting bullet that went right through the CG rockmonster kid, killing it instantly. Everyone, that is, except for Neville, who, in all his stupidity, stood up to see what was going on while yelling, "I have said it for years--he's mentally unstable!"   
  
"Theo, see if you can dispose of that," Hans Gruber told his associate, who hauled the body of Neville and the rock-monster kid out of the room with the help of some of the other German thugs.  
  
Hans sat down in front of Ron. "That's a very nice robe, Mr. Weasley. It would be a shame to ruin it."  
  
Ron stared at the handsome German thief blankly. Hans sighed wearily. "I'm going to count to three. There will not be a four. One--"  
  
Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and Harry continued to stare and drool at the carrot, screaming an obscenity about Al Gore and boiled peanuts.  
  
"Two--"  
  
Snape sat, brow furrowed, trying to think what all of these unexpected cameos could possibly have in common.  
  
"Three."  
  
Ron glanced up at Hans, who pulled out his pistol just as another man came running into the room.  
  
"Hans Gruber!" the man said in a very deep, even, smooth, and commanding voice. "You are under arrest for promoting subversion through all of your anti-cheese literature. You will come with me, where you will be locked in a room and see no one but me until I beat a confession out of you, mentally or physically, it is your choice--"  
  
Hans shot the man and stood up, saying quite resignedly, "Okay, we'll do it the hard way." He turned to Snape. "I wanted this to be professional. Efficient, cooperative, not a lot to ask. Unfortunately, your student did not see it that way, so the Interrogator will not be joining us for the rest of his life." He picked up a plate from the buffet table and began to pick at it nonchalantly as he spoke. Snape had to trip several fat students in their desperate attempts to make it up to the food table. "You can leave whatever way you want. You can walk out of here or be carried out. But have no illusions, we are in charge." He waved the gun for emphasis, accidentally squeezing off a shot that killed Trevor the Toad. "So, decide each of you," Hans said, sticking the gun under each of the students' noses in turn. "But please remember, we have left nothing to chance."   
  
Suddenly, the Sheriff fell from the ceiling and knocked Hans out of a window. The Sheriff stood up, pushing his black fur cape behind him.  
  
"Cousin," Snape said forcedly. "I trust you justify your intrusion with news of profound value?"  
The Sheriff nodded. "I met a hooded man today who bade me w--" The Sheriff paused. "Wait, no, that's not my line!" He stared at Snape in dawning knowledge. "You stole my lines! I suppose you took Miss 10:30 and 10:45, as well?! You're in on it with that Robin Hood, you little ferret!"  
  
Snape shook his head imperceptibly, nodding to the class and waving at the carrot. Harry let out a whimper.  
  
"Ah, yes of course," the Sheriff said. He pulled out another spoon and handed it to Snape, who nodded quickly. The Sheriff then swept off down between the tables. "Now I have heard that Longbottom mat still be alive. Either tell me where he may be hiding...or you'll all be hanged and we'll catch him anyway and do the same thing to him!" he finished in a rush.  
  
Snape, sighing exasperatedly, pulled a dagger from inside his robes and charged at the Sheriff, stabbing him in the chest. The Sheriff staggered around and keeled over, drooling almost as much as Harry.  
  
Snape sauntered over and stood over the dying man. "Well at least I didn't use a spoon."  
The Sheriff collapsed and gave up the ghost with the final realization that all his good lines had been taken from him in this last scene of life.  
  
"Now!" Snape shouted, whirling back on Harry, causing all of the students to jump, especially all those who had retreated to corners and were frantically snogging one another.   
  
Snape swept up to Harry again, throwing the broom on the floor as he grabbed the carrot. "Now, Potter, here is your punishment, at long last." He pulled the carrot over into position and lowered the spoon. Harry watched with quivering jaw and trembling spittle as Snape did so. A few students, bored, returned to snogging under the desks. Snape heard this and began to viciously whack and hack at the carrot, punctuating his yells and hollers about "Those--*whack*--of you coming here--*whack whack*--who will--*whack*--NOT--*whack whack*--PAY--*whack whack whack*--ATTENTION!!!" *whack whack whack whack*  
  
Harry began to scream uncontrollably as the carrot juice flowed and bits of mangled pulp hit him in the eye. Ron, thoroughly exhausted by it all, waited until Snape was hauling snogging students out from under desks before whacking Harry hard on top of the head.   
  
Harry blinked and continued to scream.  
  
Ron was flabbergasted. He hit him again, harder this time. Harry didn't flinch.  
  
Ron looked helplessly at Parvati. She nodded understandingly and kicked Harry, hard, under the desk. Being as it was under the desk, no one will ever know just where she kicked, even the omniscient and highly intelligent author, but it was enough for Harry to slump unconscious to the classroom floor.  
  
Snape whirled at the sound of the hollow twang as Harry hit the ground. He leaped onto a desk and began to lead the whole of the class into a round of "Ding-dong, the Pothead's Dead." Never was the end of a Potions class so raucous and full of joy. 


	2. Chapter 2: The Jolly Green Giant and PED...

TO ALL THOSE UNFORTUNATE SCHMUCKS WHO WILL READ THIS LATEST INSTALLMENT IN MY FANFICTION: Thank you sooo much for the wonderful reviews! I was absolutely FLOORED when I saw that I had reviews today. I read them, and they made me cry! I was certain that FF.net was going to pull this FF for taking up space. *sniff* You guys are so great, thank you for taking the time to read it and post such wonderful reviews! I love you all and I hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint...I wrote it immediately after seeing that you guys are actually reading my demented, incoherent babbling, and thought it was funny! Thank you so much, everybody!

Ron stared glumly out of the window in the hospital wing. It was raining. It always rains in literature whenever the character the author is focused on is glumly staring out of a window. This fanfiction is no different and you will find many little gems of unoriginal cliches.

The noise in the earlier Potions class at the fainting of Harry had alerted Dumbledore, who jerked out of his hazy meditations to push his beaded curtains aside and rush down to see if there was a better party for him to get in on. Unfortunately, the stale stench of many rotted, bottled small animals (much like the moose described in the opening credits of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail") had sobered him up, in a hurry. He remembered he had left his pipe smoking and had ordered Ron to carry Harry up to the hospital wing. Apparently, Dumbledore thought he had conjured a large, hairy camel to aid Ron and scampered off before his Celtic tapestries could catch alight. Ron was forced to help a tipsy Lockhart (anyone can see the resemblance between a drunken Gilderoy and a large hairy camel, even if they ARE sober) carry Harry up to the wing.

Now Ron was stuck hanging out in the hospital wing, as was his duty as a "friend."

"Ooh!! Looky there!!! Its a pink dragon wearing a three-piece suit and a large straw boater!" Lockhart squealed from his seat in the corner. Ron turned wearily to see Madam Pomfrey tie Lockhart's arms and legs to the chair. Lockhart began rocking back and forth in a rhythmic manner, humming "Sex and Candy" and flashing charming, drunken smiles at the "dragon." Ron rolled his eyes as he saw the "dragon" was actually a rotten banana on the ground covered in some funky neon green fungus and dressed up in a Barbie Prom Night gown.

"Natty threads! Who's ya tailor, who's ya tailor?" Lockhart began to scream, rocking back and forth violently. Ron stared angrily at the convulsing ex-professor, and when Madam Pomfrey didn't appear to give Lockhart another enema, Ron walked over and hit Lockhart over the head with a very large, blunt object.

Lockhart crumpled in a heap and began to gnaw at Ron's shoelaces.

"What are you doing?!" Ron hollered, backing away quickly from the ex-professor, his shoes squelching with large amount of drool already. 

Parvati Patil was walking by just then, and, seeing Ron's predicament, walked in, kicked Lockhart, hard, and left, going about her business. Lockhart groaned, his eyes crossed and rolled back in his head as he began to sing in a tenor, "Jingle Bells," his cheek and foot twitching in time together. 

Parvati came back in and kicked Lockhart hard again. He switched to a deep bass "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." She kicked him again. With each blow, Lockhart changed songs and tones. Ron joined in on the kicking and soon the had their own little party mix going.

But it was too much for Lockhart. His head began to spin around on his shoulders and exploded. Parvati and Ron shrieked as they dove for cover, but were still splattered with chocolate pudding.

An ominously-hummed rendition of the "Mission: Impossible" theme accompanied sly, stealthy, footsteps to the hospital wing door. There was a short pause, and the humming turned to an Irish jig, and Snape came river dancing into the room.

"Naughty naughty," Snaped tsk-tsked as he surveyed the mess. "I always knew Lockhart wasn't banana pudding, deep down."

Parvati fainted with joy at seeing her sexy professor, and Ron hid his eyes from the traumatizing sight of seeing Snape hike up his robes and do the can-can.

Filch came wheezing in the room shortly after Snape, glaring around at the mess. His eyes bugged out and rolled, bouncing across the pudding splattered floor. Mrs. Norris scampered into the room and ate them. Filch ran blindly into the hall, cursing his cat, and was impaled on a suit of armor's pointy shoe.

"Well, that takes care of that," Snape said, peeking out into the hall and watching Filch spurt grape juice on the floor. "Glory be. Now, you two will have to clean this mess up, and then when you're done, come down to the dungeons, I need you to lick my boots, and then I need one of you to redo my manicure, its getting--"

Snape eyes widened as he realized what he said. "I mean--Weasley, bedpan duty! Patil! Umm.....take this down to the morgue!" He kicked Lockhart's body, causing a stream of chocolate pudding to leap into the air.

"Morgue, sir?" Parvati asked groggily, as she had just came to from her fainting by Ron's insistent flicking.

"Yes, yes the morgue. You didn't think you ate REAL beef all the time did you?" Snape sneered. "With that cheapskate Dumbledore in charge? No no, we keep a healthy stock of dead bodies down there....mostly small, furry animals that happen to wander into the castle--"

Hermione sat bolt upright on her bed. Ron groaned. Hermione, if you'll remember, was tranported up to the hospital wing after her run-in with the Face from The Weakest Link, after which she made several rude and ethnically-slandering remarks, causing her to be beaten savagely with a fluffy bunny slipper. Hermione turned to Snape.

"You--we eat small furry animals here?" she demanded.

"Yes. Sometimes we form elaborate plots to lure students to secluded areas of the castle so we can kill them and put them in the morgue...unfortunately, Potter ruined our Chamber of Secrets scenario...now we have a mob of hitmen called 'The Order of the Phoenix,' and if Potter messes this one up like he did in Operation Triwizard Tournament...that was going to be a big haul, I can tell you that."

"You mean, had Harry not rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny would be in the morgue?" Ron asked breathlessly. 

"That is exactly what I mean, Weasley. In the morgue and in less than 10 years, in your Soup Surprise."

Ron stared at Harry. No one knew just what he was thinking, despite the big neon sign on his forehead flashing "Anger," "Rage," and "Masochism." With a scream he hurled himself on Harry's bed and began to beat him senseless with a paper cup. Snape nonchalantly slipped a carrot from his sleeve onto Harry's bedside table. Parvati stared at him.

"I'm sure Weasley will find some fun uses for it later," Snape said, winking.

"Professor!" Hermione yelled over the din of Ron punching Harry in the head and the squeak that proceeded each blow. She was getting extremely irate at not being in the center of attention. "This school could be reported for animal cruelty! The Muggles have organizations, PEDA and FEDA, and I'm sure they'd be MORE than happy to investigate!"

The whole castle began to shake and boom as everyone became aware that Hagrid was running up to join them. Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh, great, enter the tree-hugger. The Jolly Green Giant himself."

Hagrid appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He tried to enter and got stuck. Hermione jumped up and grabbed Hagrid's thumb in both hands and pulled. A loud squawk made her drop his finger in surprise.

"Bloody bugger, yeh popped meh knuckle!" Hagrid dangled the disjointed finger from his hand, shaking it vigorously, grinning as it flopped limply around. He moved his other hand over in front of him with much difficulty and attempted to shove his thumb back in place. A loud DING told everyone his thumb was broken.

"Ah well, never much liked it anyhow," Hagrid shrugged, lifting all the walls around them briefly with his shoulders. He wrenched his thumb off and, looking around at the mess, tossed it on Lockhart's body. His thumb gave a little trill of joy and began to run across the corpse lapping up the chocolate pudding.

"Nah," Hagrid said, resigning himself to his now permanent station stuck in the doorway. "What's this I was hearing about PEDA and FEDA?"

"Hagrid!" Hermione wailed in that annoying Hermione way. "They eat small, interesting, furry animals here! We have to do something!"

"Yeh're righ'," Hagrid said, and sank into deep thought. His face convulsed and he made many painful sounds. Snape whacked him across the shoulder.

"Don't hurt yourself, man," he said, hitting him a few extra times just for the fun of it. When Hagrid sinks into thought, its a very painful process for him. His shrink says one day he'll sink down into thought and never come back.

JK Rowling peered around the door. "Hey! What are you doing? None of my characters are neurotic! They are all politically and socially correct! Harry is the stupid, spastic, chronically ill boy from a dysfunctional family; Ron is the transvestite--" Ron looked astounded at the news. "Sorry, Ron, Warner Bros wanted you to come out. They also want the truth that Dumbledore gets drunk five times a day and moonlights as Jerry Springer known. Hagrid, your history of indecently using goats and sheep has been publicly announced. Hermione, Warner Bros has made common knowledge of your anal-retentive tendencies and your sexual frustrations. Parvati, you don't have a big part in the books anyway, and Warner Bros cut you from the movie, so they want you out all together. You'll have to come with me."

Parvati followed the authoress glumly. Rain lashed at the windows. Snape stopped Ms. Rowling before she left.

"What about me, Ms. Rowling? What bomb must I deal with?" he asked.

"You, Severus? You are the man behind every good thing that has happened in the books. You keep Hogwarts together. You are the most noble, selfless, brave, loyal, and sexy character in the whole of the series! You're getting your very own TV show and miniseries next fall. Warner Bros loves you!" She left with he hand twitching convulsively on Parvati's shoulder.

"Aha," Snape stared triumphantly at the rest of the devastated gathering. "I'm safe."

"It was obvious when they wanted Alan Rickman to play you in the movie they liked you," Hermione muttered. She turned to Hagrid, face still burning that all should know her deep dark secrets. "What can we do about the small furry animal situation?"

"Well, I've already though' abou' it," Hagrid said importantly. "I will...lash meself, or wedge meself, in a area o' high traffic to protest the cruelty to ther animals!"

"Hagrid...you--you've already done that," Hermione pointed out.

Hagrid glanced down at his predicament. "Uhh, yeah. See? Tole yeh I figgered it out already."

Ron had long since ceased beating Harry with the paper cup. At that precise moment, Harry woke up and began to scream and fend off his attacker, who was sitting dejectedly on top of him, thinking of all the lies his parents and society had heaped on him in his childhood, which he had just discovered, was spent as a girl. Ron was in no mood to deal with Harry and his Carrot Syndrome as Harry began to scream and writhe with less strength than a mentally retarded gnat. Ron spied the carrot on the bedside table and snatched it up, breaking it in half and eating it quickly. Harry screamed and fell over on the floor, and crawled frantically for the exit, which was blocked by Hagrid. Harry whirled and began to slide uncontrollably over the slippery, pudding-covered floor, screaming all the more at the sight of Lockhart's decapitated body. 

Everyone watched bemusedly as Harry ran in small circles, screaming like a terrified spider monkey. Harry finally crawled, covered in pudding, over to the window (which was still being lashed at with the stereotypical rain) and desperately yanked it open. A wet hand reached up and hauled Harry out, who fell screaming to the ground several floors down. 

The onlookers continued to onlook with renewed interest to see who their savior was. Hans Gruber climbed up, soaking wet but still so very hot and sexy, and was greeted by raucous applause (Hans Gruber, if you'll remember, was knocked out of a window by the Sheriff of Nottingham, but all is well becuase Hans is still alive and I daresay as good-looking as ever). The rain ceased and the sun came up quickly, which is an example of the literary device of using the weather to reflect the characters' moods and which never happens in real life. I mean, when I'm happy, then the sky clouds over and dumps buckets of water on my head, forcing me to run to the nearest and tallest tree with no cover but a piece of sheet metal to take refuge. Then I'm struck by lightning and then I'm pissed off, because of the weather, but the weather doesn't reflect my mood. And when it's sunny outside---

HANS GRUBER: Mr. Takagi, I'm really not interested in the effects of literary device and the discrepancy between literature and real life. But I need this fanfiction because I am interested in the $640 million dollars in negotiable bearer bonds that you have locked in your vault--

Hans....wrong piece of work here.

HANS GRUBER: Of course...sorry.

Anyway, moving along, Hans was received with great joy and the sun came out and baked the large pile of mud Harry landed in into a large brick into which he was encrusted, like some hideous ruby on a really crappy piece of jewelry. Everyone went down to the Great Hall to celebrate the temporary imprisonment that could last anywhere from 5 minutes to 5 months, depending on the intelligence of the imprisoned and the anxiety of the imprisoned's friends and/or acquaintances to free the said imprisoned. Sadly (or happily, as those in this ff would say), in Harry's case, it looks as though he will be stuck in the hardened pile of mud for quite a while. 

The feast was delicious, and Hermione had to bring up plates of the Soup Surprise (apparently they eat soup on plates in the UK, I don't know) to Hagrid, forgetting that it was made entirely of small, hapless furry animals and the more of the dim-witted student population. The Great Hall's ceiling was a beautiful, clear, starry night to them all, except for Dumbledore, who, coming down to the feast in large rose sunglasses and a Bob Marley t-shirt, which had an interesting, kind of sweet odor about it, saw many prophetic visions of biblical proportions in the linoleum tiles.


	3. Chapter 3: Kangaroos, Cabbages, and Well...

Harry darted from tree to tree, staying to the shadows, much to their disappointment. They were coming, he knew...he needed to make it to his banana-seat tricycle with the lurid Gryffindor banner.

He dove from the cliff that had ominously appeared and whistled for his trike as he fell.

Splat.

No trike.

The Anglia came trundling up, spotted Harry, and continued on. It did a double-take and came speeding back to his smushed form, screeching to a stop and crushing Harry's fingers flatter, enjoying the slight painful whimpering coming from the ground. With a few pops, Harry had freed his hand and reinflated himself like the poor little cat on Hocus Pocus. He leaped into the car, and in the classic "pursued-by-unknown-pursuers-the-pursued-leaps-off-of-a-cliff-and-climbs-into-a-teal-Ford-Anglia-to-turn-and-look-for-the-pursuers-who-pop-out-off-dark-places-as-pursued-sits-dumbly-in-car" move, turned and looked for his unknown pursuers. As one, the rabid kangaroos bounded from all manner of dark and smelly places (my sock drawer, a can of yams, a pumpkin pie, and the banana stand of a grocery store) and, in all their rabid rabidity, began a rabid pursuance of Harry in the Anglia.

The Anglia, having no particular desire to be forcibly molested in the windshield wipers by the rabid marsupial salivate spew, revved its engine in a desperate attempt to fly off. Harry, however, being an idiot, had his foot mashed firmly against the brake. In frantic blarings of the horn and waving of its virginal windshield wipers, the car hoped to alert Harry to his fatal podiatric position. Harry, the blubbering prat, simply stared slack-jawed and spittle-chinned as the kangaroos neared.

The Anglia, now hysterical to preserve its wiper blades, ejected Harry from his seat and high into the air as it shot away. Harry flew up and up, pelted by malignant papayas hurled by the kamikaze kangaroos as the leapt rabidly from trees to reach the floating Potter. A seagull, seeing the papayas flying in all their malignance through the air, dove after one in the plans of taking it to ram through Clinton's--

Thock.

The seagull struck Harry in the baby toe, causing the blithering idiot to plummet to the earth, in a juicy barrage of tasty, tropical, tumourous papayas, to the mercy of the rabid kangaroos, who screeched and foamed all the more profusely.

**********

"Explain the principles of centripetal force when applied to the square of the second quadrant to the 3 power!"

Harry's head lolled about on his shoulders. Left ear to right shoulder (quite the contortionist, our Potter), Harry looked at the cabbage screaming at him.

"Describe the details and discrepancies of the soliloquies of Shakespeare as compared to Frost!" screamed another of the vicious vegetables.

Harry twisted his head all the way around. He was surrounded by orange cabbages on all sides, much like the kind one would find in a "Cabbage Casserole Surprise with Citrus Sauce" that has been prepared for dinner when one was expecting a bisque and wondering what the strange smell issuing from the kitchen was, wailing at him, spraying him with bits of their leaves and much juice.

"Recount the prosecutor and defendant in the Betts vs Brady case and give a lengthy biographical verbal essay of each!"

"Explain in detail the techniques of contrapposto, sfumato,--"

"Recite the Constitution of the United States of America, verbatim!"  


"Define verbatim!"

"Recite the Latin, French, German, and Spanish dictionaries in Pig Latin!"

"Name the capitals and leaders since the formation of such cities of Myanmar, Cameroon, Eritrea, Suriname--"

I would continue verbatim documentation of this episode, alas the time constraints, added to the employment of area on this world wide web and the facilities of such, it is immaterial. Suffice it to say that the tyrannical leaved vegetables sustained unrelenting and perpetual questions of the inane nature and trivial category, of which, of course, a great git as Harry would have not the slightest inkling concerning.

Harry, calling on faculties I had heretofore considered him less than incapable of, called on reserves to persevere this torture of drilling his chronic stupidity into cerebrum, cerebellum, Abdullah oblongata, and tail bone. Soon the sting of the cabbages' words were dulled and the impacting flecks of cabbage bits hitting his flesh with raging force was forgotten. He began to notice some strange behaviors of the screaming, spitting cabbages with a vast knowledge of things no one should really know as well as they. They would take turns howling questions at him, much like the immense thug-ninja groups in movies who dance threateningly around the hero (and, in the better movies, may even have some dooming chant or mantra) as they patiently wait to attack and be defeated by the good guy one by one. While on cabbage was yelling, the others would turn and seem to be reading some sort of magazine. Harry seemed to remember Hermione beating him with a rubber hose and screaming their Herbology lesson in a last ditch attempt for the rock of his head to absorb the minutest bit of knowledge. "CABBAGES ARE MALE!" she had screamed. "YOU GREAT BLITHERING PRAT! THE ZUCCHINIS ARE FEMALE!" At this point Harry had blacked out. He had woken a week later in a dirty public restroom with a severe lack of Charmin, with only apricot cookies to subsist on and a cat with a urinary tract infection for company.

Harry squinted closer at the magazines...it was full of color photographs of orange cabbages in such suggestive poses as in a pot, on the cutting board with a knife nearby, and many other poses.

"Aha," Harry mumbled to himself. "Cabbage erotica. All cabbages are male..."

Harry racked his brains for a weakness for the homosexual vegetables. The only thing he could think, he blurted out immediately, "MY FAVORITE COLOR IS PURPLE!"

The cabbages fell silent and all turned slowly to face him with what Harry assumed were their faces. Harry raised his arms slowly and made a triangle with his fingers above his head.

He had their full attention now; he exercised his advantage and leapt up, kicking them out of the way and tromping on them, as they squealed helplessly and the cabbage juice soaked Harry's shoes. He was safe outside of their secret, evil lair before he stopped gimping along. He looked around wildly. 

An evil-looking man on a gray horse came riding up. "Allow me to escort you home!" he cried, swinging from his mount. Just then an infinitely more handsome man drove up in a carriage, bedecked in the red coat of the British Army, a fat cow in a veil in the seat next to him.

"Willoughby!" the cow bellowed, flinging herself from the carriage and at the evil-looking man. She landed on him and his horse, crushing them all to death in an instant.

The handsome man looked sadly at the tragic sight. "It's always the Elizas and the Eilza-look-alikes that are crushed to death. This is the first to actually crush another person to death. Maybe I should just learn to find someone who deserves me..." The man looked at Harry. "I of course keep up my gallant and dashing demeanor...can I give you a ride? The horse is out of danger of killing itself hauling THAT, now."

Harry gratefully climbed into the carriage. The man smiled, and had any women been in sight and alive, they would have fainted in helpless rapture at seeing that gorgeous grin. "My name is Colonel Brandon. Were I narcissistic, I would tell you all about my tragic past. However, since it has been tragic, it has tempered me into the fine man I am today."

This was not boasting, of course, see the movie Sense and Sensibility for the background information. Nothing that man says can be boasting. All men should strive for Colonel Brandon-ness.

They pair rode along in silence, as Colonel Brandon's tragic past had made him the sweet, thoughtful, gently silent type, and Harry had nothing of any use to say. Harry nodded off and awoke abruptly, a group of ferrets around his head, nipping at his ears.

Harry tried to whimper and move his head, but it was stuck, embedded even, in the pile of mud he had fallen into. Harry screamed as the ferrets hauled a carrot into view, the hardened mud preventing him from his neurotic spasms. His eyes rolled back in his head and he drooled and gagged on it. 

High above, Snape watched from a window, grinning sadistically at the twitching git, and handed another carrot to his loyal ferrets. 


	4. Chapter 4: The Metatron and the Demonbus...

"Demons are everywhere. We must learn to recognize them."  
  
Harry Potter grunted and blinked his eyes. Looking up from his prison of dried mud, he saw a dozen pairs of beady little maniacal eyes staring accusingly at him, holding a variety of protest-like signs. He squinted at one and read: "WE DON'T READ HARRY POTTER! WE READ THE BIBLE!"  
  
Hermione and Ron came wandering by, laughing. Seeing Harry, they tried to run away without him seeing them.  
  
No luck. He grunted and shrieked and stared wildly at the Demonbuster gang.  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione groaned, eyeing the signs.  
  
"What?" Ron asked.  
  
"Bible thumpers. Think Harry Potter is evil..."  
  
"CHILD OF SATAN!" one of the women shrieked at Hermione.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. It morphed and became forked, and she hissed at the crowd. Then her head began to spin all the way around her shoulders.  
  
"Yrrah tnsi na noitanimoba...seh tsuj a taerg gnirehtilb toidi!!!!" she screamed at them and a deep raspy voice. Then she puked guacamole for good measure.  
  
The woman fainted dead away. Hermione grinned at Ron.  
  
"Nothing can be done about these people," she said simply, her head spinning around back to the front. "Might as well have fun with them."  
  
Snape wandered up, spinning a pink parasol and humming "Let's Get Physical."  
  
"What's going on?" he said lazily. He looked at the Demonbuster gang. "YOU again?!"  
  
He whipped out his wand and hexed the nearest man, turning him into a bowl of cheese cubes.  
  
"POWER OF THE DEVIL!" the gang chorused, covering their eyes.  
  
Snape sighed and waved his wand, turning two more of them into giant mice, and set them to devouring the bowl of cheese.  
  
"And the power to change into animals shall be-est a sure sign of the Devil's work among you!" a man, presumably the leader, shouted. "Brothers and sisters! Turn in your Bibles to Revelations--"  
  
"Let me try..." Ron said, screwing up his face in thought before flicking his wand at the Bibles. Ozzy Osbourne blared as the Demonbusters opened their Bibles, like so many musical greeting cards.  
  
The people shrieked and dropped their books, covering their eyes.  
  
"Do not open your oh-so-holy eyes, my brothers and sisters, else they be BURNED in your sockets by the Divine Wrath!"  
  
"Nice!" Snape crowed, and high-fived Ron before sticking his tongue out at the DB gang and doing the funky chicken.  
  
A fiery pillar descended in the midst of the gang.  
  
"Behold the Metatron!" a Voice within the pillar proclaimed. "Herald of the Almighty and Voice of the one true--"  
  
The Voice ended in spluttering and coughing as Hermione doused the flames with a fire extinguisher she found in her robes.  
  
"What else have you got in there?" Ron asked, amazed.  
  
"Oh," she replied, pulling more stuff out, "you know, the usual...floss, cherry tree, oh and here's that sloth I thought I lost...ouch...Peter Pettigrew...cut it out." She whacked the fat nasty man on the head as he tried to gnaw her hand. "Acid-free glue, llama dung, mincemeat pies..."  
  
The Voice cleared its throat. "Got a towel? Honestly, you bottom-feeders and your arrogance..."  
  
Hermione tossed the Metatron a hand towel, and he dabbed himself off. "Now where was I?" he mused. "Oh yes. I AM...THE METATRON." He sprung such huge, impressive wings that he toppled right over backwards.  
  
The Demonbusters hurried forward to help him up.  
  
"Get off, get off, don't touch me," the Metatron said irritably, brushing them aside.  
  
"Finally, a missionary from the heavens, here to put an end to this evil of Harry Potter!" the head Demonbuster cried, tears in his eyes. "Too long has this abomination been going on! Spells against children released, innocent young souls tainted by this witchcraft--"  
  
"Look..." the Metatron said wearily. "Shut...up."  
  
The Demonbusters fell silent, their rapt, tearful gaze upturned to the Metatron, waiting for him to whip out his fiery sword and destroy the most evil and unnatural spawn of the underworld.  
  
And of course I mean underworld as in the fiery pits and lakes of brimstone in Hell, not as in the underworld as in Underworld the movie, which I still have yet to see, with all of those fabulous darling werewolves, nor do I mean underworld as in underworldly associations, like the Mafia, which I very much admire, just take a look at the Black Hand in Sicily and the American Mafia back in the Prohibition era, or the Godfather trilogy, fabulous movies, those...and I don't mean I admire the Mafia of today, no indeed, drug smugglers? Bah. A lot of less disciplined, soft, lazy criminals you'll never find. It's too easy of a business. At least Murder Inc. and bootlegging required some skill and self-discipline...  
  
"Hem hem," Dolores Umbridge coughed quietly from the background, interrupting my tirade.  
  
Oh crap. That horrible beast. Someone get her.  
  
"Who do you think you are, bossing people around?" Hermione demanded.  
  
I am the author and supreme authority over each and every one of you in the confines of this text, you miserable little brat.  
  
"Ha! Supreme authority!! I'd like to see that," Hermione snorted.  
  
Once again, fair reader, I am MOST grieved to report that Hermione Granger will not be joining us for the rest of this chapter.  
  
"Good riddance," the Metatron muttered. "I was just about to work some of my mojo on that insufferable snotrag."  
  
"That's what dissenters against the Hogwarts High Inquisitor get. Come- uppance," that nasty fat toad beast said, sniffing self-importantly.  
  
The Metatron stared at the fat beast.  
  
Ahem. I've found real life pictures of this woman. She is the stranglehold on the object of so many of our affections and lust...no names stated.  
  
The Metatron waved his hands at the toad-beast. She instantly became slimmer, more wrinkle-resistant, with red hair and green eyes and a notably quieter demeanor.  
  
"Alright!" Snape cried. "That'll help home life!"  
  
"I did it...for both our sakes," the Metatron said, eyeing his handiwork.  
  
"The Metatron! Please! Deliver us from the turmoil of these sinners!" the lead Demonbuster cried.  
  
"Oh, right, that's what I came down for," the Metatron mumbled. "Right, so let's get this straightened out." He turned to the Demonbusters. "You all are a lot of loonies, you need to go straight home, lock yourselves in a closet in a Wisconsin truck stop, and not bother anyone with your ridiculous claims for the rest of human history. Understood?"  
  
The Demonbusters looked at each other, shocked.  
  
"I will of course provide you with a lifetime supply of Spam to sustain you to Judgment Day when you'll answer for your most heinous attacks against something so pure and good as Harry Potter. And you will be provided your own prophets...in a manner of speaking. The first one...well, he's sort of the silent type. The second one, that talks...and he will, at great length, whether you want him to or not--"  
  
Harry squealed happily from the pile of hardened mud five minutes later at the mention of his name. The Metatron rolled his eyes.  
  
"I don't mean YOU, you great prat," he said, squishing Harry's face with the heel of his shoe. "I mean the books and movies, which are so unluckily name after you."  
  
Snape picked up a ferret, stroking it lovingly. He proffered it to the Metatron, who shook his head gracefully.  
  
"You're a FRAUD!" the Demonbusters shouted at the Metatron. "You're a demon come to lead us astray! Let us talk to the Almighty!"  
  
The Metatron sighed wearily. "I told you, you lot of spotty dolts, I am the Voice of the Almighty."  
  
"Why can't he talk for himself?" they asked accusingly. "'For in dulcet tones shall the Devil lead thee astray to tear thee asunder!'"  
  
"I have dulcet tones, do I?" The Metatron looked flattered.  
  
"I'd say your deep and sensuous baritone is quite like honey on velvet," Snape replied.  
  
The Metatron looked Snape up and down. "Thank you very much. And I'd say your luscious, even tones ring exactly like liquid velvet would."  
  
Snape grinned happily. "Thank you. Ferret?"  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
"ANSWER US, THOU DECEIVING DEMON!"  
  
The Metatron sighed heavily and launched into a practiced speech. "The Metatron acts as the Voice of God. Any documented occasion where some yahoo claims to be speaking to Him, they're speakin' to me. Or they're just, talking to themselves."  
  
"Why can't He speak for Himself?"  
  
"Glad you decided to join the conversation with an intelligent query, to answer that, humans have neither the psychological nor audial capacity to withstand the awesome power of God's true voice. Were you to hear it, your head would cave in and your heart would explode within your chest, we went through five Adams before we figured that one out."  
  
The Demonbusters looked stunned. They immediately spun around to confer with each other and rifle through their Bibles.  
  
"It says here, 'Witchcraft is an abomination before me!'" they said, thrusting their open Bibles at the Metatron. He waved them aside.  
  
"And ignorant Bible-thumpers are an abomination before ME."  
  
"You have no respect for what is sacred and holy?" they asked incredulously.  
  
The Metatron rolled his eyes. "I was created by Kevin Smith, what do you think?"  
  
They stared, gaping-mouthed. Some of them actually had flies buzz into their oral cavities. They swallowed noisily.  
  
"I'm tired of this," Snape whined. He waved his wand and all of the Demonbusters exploded with loud POOFs, raining chocolate Galleons on them all. The two mice shrieked loudly, and the bowl of cheese cubes ran into the Forbidden Forest. Snape grabbed the mice and stuffed them into his pockets.  
  
"For the Soup Surprise," he said, winking at Ron, who was scampering around, gathering up the Galleons, biting a bunch of first years who go in the way.  
  
Ron was very unnerved by the fact that Snape winked at him.  
  
"Well, these signs here..." Snape said, picking them up and turning them over in digust. "'The End is Near! Learn to Recognize the Demons All Around! You Deserve to Get Saved Today!' Well these are of no good to anyone." He piled them on the mound of hardened mud and lit it on fire.  
  
"Good to have met you," he said, walking over to the Metatron, shaking his hand. "Good to know someone so very good looking is watching over things Up There."  
  
The Metatron shook his hand in return. "Of course. Now if you'll excuse me, the Last Scion has gone and got herself involved in ANOTHER floor show at some dodgy fraternity house..."  
  
And the Metatron disappeared. Snape turned to Ron.  
  
"Another good day's work," he said, offering his elbow. "Shall we adjourn to the Great Hall?"  
  
Ron looked him up and down. "Ummm...no...thanks, I was going to...go check on...something annoying...oh yeah, Hermione. I think she's in the hospital wing again. She always manages to get there in nearly every chapter. Annoying twit."  
  
"Suit yourself, but I'll see you later." He flashed the double-pistol fingers at Ron and clicked his tongue. He pulled on a pair of black sunglasses and bewitched his robe to turn into a black suit and black tie. "Let's go to woik," he said to an imaginary group of similarly dressed men behind him.  
  
Ron stared with dawning comprehension. "YOU'RE Mr. Purple!"  
  
"Yep. I'm that some other guy on some other job. I'm just glad I didn't get the name Mr. Pink. Can you imagine?!"  
  
And, laughing, Snape and Ron headed up to the castle, the fire burning the signs crackling merrily atop the mound of mud. Twenty-five minutes later resounding, piercing screams could be heard throughout the grounds as Harry Potter finally realized there was a fire right on top of him. 


End file.
